Listen in for the poem of the day: From Roads to Trails.
Standing at the starting line, I felt a mix of curiosity and nerves. After years of road racing, chasing PRs, and Boston qualifiers, was I ready to trade predictable pacing for the wild uncertainty of trails? The rocks, roots, relentless climbs, and nutrition strategies were all rather new territory for me.
Did I want to get better at this? Did I want to shift my focus from roads to trails?
With 50 miles ahead of me, I'd have plenty of time to think it over. I had no idea how long it would take, but I hoped to finish in time for my daughter's dance recital, 90 minutes away. (I must finish by 6 p.m.)
My family planned to find me at the finish, though I'd told my husband Jeff the night before not to worry if they couldn't make it.
“The start/finish might be tricky to find,” I said. “Head to Buttermilk Falls instead—we pass through there several times and it's easy to spot.”
"We'll see, we'll figure it out," he replied.
I should have known better than to worry about Jeff finding his way. With cold rain in the forecast and Delaney's recital that evening, I didn't want them to feel obligated to come. I told her to bring her dance outfit so she could change on the way if needed.
My mom insisted on staying to drive me home afterward. “You shouldn't drive after running 50 miles,” she said, ignoring my protests that I'd be fine.
The cloudy, cool weather suited me much better than sunny and 80 degrees. After weeks of rain, I expected muddy conditions. My recent run at Highland Forest had been mostly mud with few dry patches, so I was prepared for more of the same.
I patted the 50 names tucked in my running vest—my motivation for the miles ahead. The race director's pre-race briefing was relaxed and encouraging. After covering the course and aid stations, he sent us off with simple instructions: “Have fun out there.”
I smiled as we took off toward the trails. Here we go!
The first loop covered 10 miles through Lower Treman State Park, with our first aid station at mile 4. I'll never forget those initial stone steps—holy cow! My thighs were already burning before mile 3, and when I looked up to see even more steps stretching ahead, I had to laugh. When does it end?
I went back to my mantras and remembered my why. I had to keep my attitude and thoughts in check. I chose to be here, so let's enjoy it, all 1,000 steps and more.
Around this time, I started hearing bagpipes. I thought I was losing it until another runner spoke up, “It's too early to be hallucinating.” We all chuckled. I was relieved I wasn't the only one hearing the melody over the waterfall's roar. That shared laugh was exactly what I needed; there's something special about running and struggling together as a group.
As we rounded the stone platform along the gorge, there he was, a kilted musician playing bagpipes. We all ran right past him, and goosebumps covered my arms as I smiled. Howard's heavenly music had found us in the most unexpected place.
I was in awe.
The miles began to flow. We wove along singletrack, hopped over fallen logs, and danced around trail obstacles until a tremendous climb reared up before us. One runner glided past me, walking the incline with trekking poles like he was taking a stroll through the park.
Those look helpful, I thought, placing my hands on my thighs for leverage and channeling my inner Courtney Dauwalter.
I kept my eyes fixed on the trail directly ahead instead of measuring the distance still to climb. Please, Lord, I need your strength and mighty power. Keep us safe out here.
When I finally looked up, the crest of the hill was within reach.
Let’s go legs…get to the next aid station.
TBC…
Thank you for reading along and being here with me.
Julie
It's been a pleasure to move and write with you over the past six weeks. Thank you for taking a chance on this move and write thing!
Please continue with your courageous writing! You just never know who you will have a positive impact on.
Hope to see you over the summer,
Julie
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